


Pretty Please

by chemm80



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Mild Kink, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean crowds up behind Sam, hooking his arm over one of Sam’s shoulders, resting his chin on the other and letting the panties dangle from one finger against Sam’s chest.  The contrast between the bright fabric and Sam’s dark hoodie is striking.  Sam is blushing so hard Dean doesn’t even need to look to know it, can feel the heat of Sam’s cheek against his own, even though their faces aren’t quite touching. Sam has gone utterly still though, doesn’t even try to pull away.  Dean’s suspicion turns to certainty.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“Didn’t ever tell you about Rhonda Hurley, did I, Sammy?” he whispers next to Sam’s ear, ending the sentence with an open-mouthed kiss on his neck.  Sam shivers.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Please

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story I wrote for [](http://ordinaryink.livejournal.com/profile)[**ordinaryink**](http://ordinaryink.livejournal.com/)'s prompt of "stuck in women's lingerie." As usual, I was very literal-minded about it, no surprise there, but it did make me stretch myself a bit, so thanks for that, kiddo. Lightning beta by the lovely and awesome [](http://killabeez.livejournal.com/profile)[**killabeez**](http://killabeez.livejournal.com/).

Their area of operations is the size of your average closet, closed off from the rest of the store. _Secrets_ is an ironic name for the place, in Dean’s opinion, considering how little the store’s merchandise leaves to the imagination. The fitting room has a slatted wooden door (good for covert surveillance, since if he angles his head right he’s got a reasonable view of the area just outside). If they’re lucky, they won’t be in here long anyway—just a quick scan with the EMF and back out before someone discovers them and calls mall security.

There are a couple of hooks on two of the walls, the kind they used to try to make him hang his jacket on back in high school. No coats on these hooks, though, just dainty little hangers supporting silky scraps of lace-trimmed fabric. Other pieces of what might loosely be called clothing are scattered across the narrow bench in the back of the room, some with functions that Dean recognizes; others he doesn’t have a clue. He’d sure as hell like to see a live demonstration, though.

Sammy, on the other hand, is obviously trying not to look too closely at any of them, his arms folded around himself like he’s afraid he’s going to accidentally touch something he shouldn’t. At sixteen Sam is awkward more often than not, walking around with his shoulders hunched over like he’s trying not to be so tall. Which, okay, he has grown about three inches since the beginning of summer, and he’s pretty much caught up with Dean already, so…fair enough, Dean guesses.

Sam glances around nervously, like he’s trying to avoid looking at all the frilly unmentionables, or Dean, or the really fucking big mirror covering one wall. He’s blushing dark red under his tan, which is hilarious, but also kind of…interesting. It seems like kind of an extreme reaction to a couple of pairs of panties to Dean, but then maybe Dean had given him a little bit of a head start on the whole embarrassment thing.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Dean had said, turning his best charming smile on the cute little sales clerk who’d made a beeline for them as soon as they’d walked in the door. “Looking for something for my girlfriend,” he’d said, and winked at Sam. She’d looked back and forth between them a couple of times, opened her mouth like she was going to say something, and then closed it again, finally recovering and telling them to have a look around, let her know if they needed help with anything.

It hadn’t been too difficult to slip into the fitting room unnoticed when she went off to help someone else. Although, the way Sam glared at him for the “girlfriend” crack and also tried to smack him in the back of the head didn’t really help their stealth quotient any.

But now, inside the dressing room, discomfort rolling off Sam in waves, Dean’s getting ideas that have him rethinking his original rapid escape plan.

He picks up a pair of pink panties off the bench, rubs the silky material between his fingers thoughtfully. He holds them up to his face and sniffs audibly.

“Dean!” Sam hisses.

Dean grins.

“Somebody didn’t follow the rules,” he says, pointing at the sign on one wall that reads, “Please Wear _Yours_ When You Try On Ours.”

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam huffs, “…put that down. You don’t know where that’s been.”

“Maybe not, but I can take a good guess,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow. He’s not really smelling anything much but new clothing, but Sam doesn’t need to know that. Sam may be kind of a nerd, but he’s a nerd with a healthy sex drive. Dean knows.

“Here, Sammy, this is probably the closest you’ve gotten to any actual pussy, anyway. Take a whiff so you’ll recognize it when you find it.” Dean moves closer, makes to hold the undergarment up to Sam’s nose, and Sam wrinkles his nose and turns his back on Dean, fending him off with an elbow. It means Sam is facing the mirror now, though, which is exactly where Dean has decided he wants him.

Dean crowds up behind Sam, hooking his arm over one of Sam’s shoulders, resting his chin on the other and letting the panties dangle from one finger against Sam’s chest. The contrast between the bright fabric and Sam’s dark hoodie is striking. Sam is blushing so hard Dean doesn’t even need to look to know it, can feel the heat of Sam’s cheek against his own, even though their faces aren’t quite touching. Sam has gone utterly still though, doesn’t even try to pull away. Dean’s suspicion turns to certainty.

“Didn’t ever tell you about Rhonda Hurley, did I, Sammy?” he whispers next to Sam’s ear, ending the sentence with an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. Sam shivers.

“She had a lot of pretty things she’d put on for me,” Dean continues. “Silky little numbers like this,” he says, tickling the side of Sam’s neck with the lingerie. Sam closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. His mouth is open slightly and Dean can see the slight bulge of his dick thickening in his jeans, can feel him starting to relax into Dean’s touch.

Dean slips his free hand under Sam’s shirt, petting his flat belly, letting his fingers dip just under the loose waistband, stroking Sam’s neck and cheek with the fabric in his other hand while he talks.

“That got old for her pretty quick, though, the kinky little brat. Didn’t take long before she was trying to talk me into trying ‘em on.” Sam opens his eyes then, turns a disbelieving stare on Dean in the mirror.

“What…uh…did you?” Sam stutters and Dean smirks, slides the hand with the panties downward and rubs them lightly across Sam’s crotch. Sam whimpers.

“Eventually,” Dean says, nosing at Sam’s neck, opening his mouth over his pulse point, sucking lightly. Sam shuts his eyes again, tilts his head to let Dean in.

“They were tight, you know? Kind of smashing everything all up together, that silky stuff sliding around between my legs…”

Sam’s breath catches and Dean opens the front of his jeans, pushes the front of his boxers down and hooks the elastic underneath his balls. Sam moans softly.

Their reflection is obscene: both of them still fully dressed except for Sam’s hard cock poking out of his open jeans, blood-red and glistening at the tip, damned near as big as Dean’s already, young as he is, and Dean feels a bizarre tingle of pride. His Sammy is gonna be _hung_ , for sure.

The thought inspires him and Dean considers, thinks he has a better than even chance of getting Sam into a pair of panties at some point if he wanted, but not here, not now. He does the next best thing, rubs the silky material lightly up the length of Sam’s dick, stroking him with it, trailing it up and over his balls and the sensitive skin of his lower belly. He can feel the goosebumps rise under his free hand, brushing lightly across Sam’s flat belly underneath his shirt.

“You like that Sammy? Feels good, huh?”

Dean doesn’t really need to ask because Sam’s breathing hard now, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Dean can feel the tension in Sam’s ass cheeks against his own crotch from the way Sam is holding back, like he’s trying not to just rub himself off on Dean’s hand. He’s beautifully pliant, in fact, resting his own hands on Dean’s forearms, not even trying to touch himself, just letting Dean run the show. Sometimes Dean thinks that’s half of why he likes doing this with Sam, doing things to him, the way Sam occasionally lets go of his stubbornness for a few moments, when it’s just them, the way he just _lets_ Dean.

“Did you, Dean?” Sam says then, breathless. “Like it, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, pulling Sam closer to him. “I did,” he says, punctuating it with a roll of his hips against Sam, letting him feel how hard Dean is too, and Sam pushes back against Dean. _Fuck_

“God, Dean…I want… _oh_ , do that again…” Sam pants.

He wraps his hand around Sam’s cock and pulls, rubbing the slick of his arousal around and swiping his thumb across the head. Sam’s response is immediate and intense: he widens his stance and goes stiff all over at the first touch, picture of teenage urgency, panting _”Oh…oh, fuck, Dean,”_ straining, still trying to be quiet, but letting soft grunts slip out anyway.

And Dean would like to draw this out, make it last, keep watching his brother fuck his fist, so goddamned dirty-beautiful in Dean’s arms, but he knows they’re already pushing their luck as it is. Someone’s going to find them, probably sooner than later.

Sam drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean shifts him in his arms in order to support his body a little better, speeds the rhythm of his strokes on Sam’s blood-hot dick, jacking him hard and fast, still holding the pink panties in his other hand over Sam’s hipbone, lurid against Sam’s dark skin.

It’s only maybe ten or fifteen seconds—Dean’s actually a little surprised Sam’s lasted this long, isn’t sure he would have at sixteen—before Sam jerks up into Dean’s hand, coming hot over his wrist and smearing slick onto his own belly as Dean works him through it, murmuring “That’s it,” and “Yeah,” into his ear.

As soon as Sam has recovered a little, Dean’s natural reaction is to use the panties he’s still holding to clean him up. He mops some of Sam’s come off his stomach with them, although they aren’t really big enough to do much good, certainly not very absorbent. Guess they’re not really intended to be practical, he thinks.

Dean’s still hard enough to pound nails when he’s done and he’s wondering if he can talk Sam into a blowjob, maybe get him to wear something pretty while he’s doing it after all, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Excuse me,” says a woman’s voice. “Is anyone in there?”

Sam jumps about a mile and tucks himself back in his pants, zips his jeans up so fast that Dean winces for him.

Dean makes a quick decision, grabs Sam’s hand in one of his and the doorknob in the other and opens the door.

“Sorry,” he says, giving the clerk from before a shit-eating grin. He quickly shoves the come-stained panties into his jacket pocket, figures shoplifting them is better than leaving them on the floor for some poor store employee to find.

Not to mention the uses he and Sam might find for them later on.

The sales girl glances at Sam, then back to Dean, and he winks as he sidles past her. She gives a surprised little giggle and grins back, shaking her head and waving them on, with a “Get out of here, before I call security,” which is exactly what Dean was going for.

The mortified little choking sound it elicits from Sam is just a bonus.


End file.
